SMITH ISLAND — SMITH ISLAND - It wasn't nostalgia that prompted Dwight "Duke" Marshall to seek legislation honoring a multitiered cake he has loved since childhood.
No, the Smith Island layer cake needed to become Maryland's official dessert for a more practical reason: to boost the island's nascent tourism industry.
"No. 1, we need a way for people to keep making a living here," says Marshall, who, like many island natives these days, doesn't work as a waterman. "People are interested in our island way of life. And they're willing to pay for having these experiences."
Experiences such as taking a ferry to a quaint place in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay to buy an odd-looking confection from an old-fashioned general store. Or, better yet, to take a class from island women willing to show you how to bake the cake made of eight (or more) half-inch-thick layers bound by frosting.
As it has become harder and harder to earn a livelihood from the bay's few remaining crabs and oysters, many islanders have embraced the shift to tourism. An elaborate Internet site sports a quick-hit list of bed-and-breakfast cottages and a menu of island food - including huge crab cakes and, as a result of this year's law, the state's official dessert.
A kayak trail with 68 color-coded directional signs makes paddling easier through a labyrinth of marshy channels. Water taxis are piloted by watermen who've turned to hauling tourists to make ends meet, telling tales of their exploits in the "water business."
"What we've seen is that baby boom-age tourists want something experiential," says Jim Rapp, executive director of the regional tourism foundation Delmarva Low-Impact Tourism Experiences. "They want something authentic. They want to meet folks, eat what they eat, hear how they talk, learn how they live."
Liz and Patrick Cunningham of Bel Air are just the sort of visitors the island is searching for: tourists with a sweet tooth.
The couple came looking for a day trip a couple of years ago and literally missed the boat. They were left standing on the dock in Crisfield as a flotilla of small ferries, loaded with passengers and supplies, plowed a watery path to Maryland's only inhabited off-shore island. So this summer, when they tried again, they checked their watches.
"There was no way we were going to miss out again," said Liz Cunningham, 55, a medical billing specialist. "This place is culture shock, like going back in time. And who could turn down the cakes?"
